Finding a Home Rewrite
by Azkaban Princess
Summary: Rewrite of Finding a Home. Genevieve is an average girl. If by average you mean grew up in a life of crime, was mentored by a world famous grifter, and is a soulmate to two sexy but dangerous and possessive hitters. Normal pairings with Eliot/OC/Quinn


Chapter 1

I threw myself down to the ground, knees scraping the rough concrete as a bullet whizzed over my head. I shakingly pushed off the ground hard and continued in a stumbled run down the cracked stretch of street. I could vaguely hear someone screaming in fright, no doubt attempting to escape the onslaught of flying bullets.

I had only made it a couple more yards before I was once again forced to throw myself down, however this time I was too late. Pain seared through my calf and I couldn't help the scream that escaped my lips in my agony. I shook my head, trying to clear the oncoming blur that threatened to invade my sight.

Looking back, I could see that there were three men remaining from the original five. The first had been dumb enough to attempt to grab me, with no weapon in hand. Stupid mistake. I had quickly disposed of him, using the surrounding brick walls to my advantage, bashing his skull against the painted red stones. Soon after, the ground had been painted red as well.

The second had been a tad smarter. After seeing his comrade fall at the literal hands of a seemingly harmless young woman, he had been quick to draw his gun. Unfortunately for him, he decided the intelligent thing to do was force the barrel against my skull. It was only a few seconds before I had pushed his arm to the right, sending my planned bullet uselessly into the ground. My right arm folded, I had quickly and forcefully sent my elbow into his cranium. He was out.

Another shot rang out, this time piercing my shoulder. My feet became unsteady, working against me to bring my battered body to the ground. Glancing around, I only saw more street. There! A small opening in the brick, most likely leading to the back of a shop, sat eight feet from where I dropped. I pushed up, not being able to contain the tears now streaming down my face, and almost rhythmically pulled myself along. Six feet left. A bullet flies by, nearly an inch from my face. Four feet. I can hear them getting closer. Two feet. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest. I can hear every beat, it's deafening.

I pull my body around the corner, eyes instantly landing on a large metal door. I flung myself inside, slamming the large door and locking it with the provided chains. I wrap my arm around my pulsing shoulder as I slowly slide to the ground. I wait, but there is no noise, no sign that the men followed me to this dank abandoned warehouse.

I eventually was able to wriggle my cell phone loose from the pocket, nearly dropping it as the plastic encased sides soon became slick with blood. Scrolling through my contacts was hard, almost making me wish I hadn't upgraded from my old flip phone, but I eventually made it to the correct contact. The phone rang twice before it stopped all together. She ignored my call.

A deep whine escaped my lips as I fumbled to re-grip the phone, tears of frustration pouring down my cheeks. It was entirely possible that I would die here, on the floor of a manky old warehouse riddled with broken bottles and discarded needles, if I couldn't get help. Alone. It shouldn't bother me, I had spent most of my life alone. The thought of fading from this world here though, where it would most likely take months to find my rotting corpse, frightened me. I thought about dialing 911. That was what any normal person would do, right? But even in this dire situation, my pride forbade me. Why should they save me when they left those so much better than me to die? Who would even miss me besides her anyway?

My eyes trailed down my body, stopping to look at my wrists. I could see them in my head, the words. Hidden underneath the now heavy sleeves saturated in blood. They wouldn't miss me. They couldn't. Leaving this world would be doing them a favor. This way they would never have to meet me, never be poisoned by the toxic waste that is me. It wouldn't be fair. I once again dialed her number, letting it skip straight to voicemail as she ignored my call once more.

"I'm so sorry." Those three simple words had never been so hard to utter. Instead of sounding apologetic, the words became jumbled. They were almost unrecognizable as I choked, blood spewing from my mouth into a spray, the remnants pooling on my lips before dribbling on my chest. The device beeped, indicating my allotted time was now up. I could only hope she could find it in her heart to forgive me. Not for my sake, of course, but hers. It does not do to live a life full of hatred and regret, I would know. My eyes softly shut, leaving me in a half awakened state as what little energy I had left my body

A loud tapping was what ultimately brought me out of the dazed sleep. The sharp clicking of heels could be heard outside the thin metal walls. I tried to say something, anything, but the only thing that came out was a strangled cry. Apparently, however, it was heard because not a moment later the makeshift door was forced open, allowing a stream of sunlight to flood the darkened warehouse. I could just make out two silhouettes running into the light before my eyes unwillingly drooped, draping me from the world.


End file.
